


The Holiest

by Jetainia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetainia/pseuds/Jetainia
Summary: Heaven has a reservoir of holy water but that is not where the water Aziraphale gives Crowley comes from.





	The Holiest

“The holiest,” Aziraphale said as Crowley stared down at the thermos full of holy water. The demon knew what that meant in the general sense, but he had no idea just how Aziraphale had attained the water.

Holy water could be made so by a blessing from a religious authority but the holiest came from tears shed by and for the unredeemable. Aziraphale had not gone to Heaven to collect from the large reservoir that lived there, instead he had stopped forcing back the desperation and despair he had felt ever since Crowley had expressed a desire for the thing that could destroy him completely.

The thermos Crowley held in careful hands was full of Aziraphale’s own tears that he had shed at the thought of losing his best friend and companion for the past almost-six thousand years. As Crowley held the thermos and tried to say thank you in the only way he knew how, Aziraphale found himself unable to stay in his presence without shedding more.

There was now a distinct possibility that Crowley would vanish from Aziraphale’s immortal life and leave him alone on Earth with only his books for company. It was entirely plausible that Aziraphale would soon have a Crowley-shaped hole in his life that he had helped make. But Aziraphale couldn’t say any of what was on his mind. Crowley would not be dissuaded and Aziraphale would much prefer he be safe when acquiring the one thing that could remove him from existence completely.

Too weak from his previous exertions to pretend everything was okay, Aziraphale smiled weakly. “You go too fast for me, Crowley,” he said, meaning far more than the speed the demon drove.

Crowley moved too fast in the way that Aziraphale had only recently come to terms with how much Crowley meant to him and Crowley had been showing his care for so much longer. Too fast in that just as Aziraphale realised and accepted he loved the demon, the demon was asking for something that could destroy him. Too fast because the demon was now looking at him in that hidden way of his aided by his ever-present sunglasses that showed demons were capable of more than hate and disdain.

The air in the Bentley became too oppressive after his words and Aziraphale quickly left, leaving Crowley alone with a deadly weapon that Aziraphale prayed he wouldn’t have a reason to use. Aziraphale did not look back as he walked. He hurried away from the car, from his best friend, from his own tears that followed him anyway.

Water welled up in his eyes as he stared down at the pavement that his feet raced along as he headed to the bookshop that never sold books. Aziraphale forced the tears back; he had already done his crying for both Crowley and himself and there was no more need for holy water. When he reached the comfort and safety of the bookshop, he ignored the small key in his pocket and instead simply used a small miracle to open and close the door before collapsing against it.

 He couldn’t have Crowley risking his life for the deadly substance when Aziraphale could provide it safely. He couldn’t say no anymore when saying no possibly meant Crowley coming into contact with holy water when the humans he hired mishandled it. And Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley to have Heaven’s holy water when Heaven would rather use it to destroy the demon than protect him. No, it would be Aziraphale and only Aziraphale who would be to blame or thank when the water was used—even if Crowley didn’t know that.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

There was a puddle of water on the floor of Crowley’s flat that the demon gave a side-eye and wide berth. Aziraphale gazed silently down at it and realised that Crowley had been correct about needing a safety net of holy water. He felt a small smile cross his face—he had helped protect the demon who had protected him so many other times before.

Crowley looked back at him to see why he had stopped and huffed. “Cocoa, angel?” he asked.

Aziraphale tore his gaze from the puddle and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

He knew that the offer was a quiet thank you from Crowley for the holy water, for the protection it had offered, and the trust giving it had meant. This was made even more clear when Crowley moved over to the rarely used kitchen and started making the drink without the use of the small miracles he often resorted to.

Demons were not held to the same standards of angels. Crowley would never be scolded for doing too many frivolous miracles because frivolous miracles meant that the demon was indulging in sloth and not trying to be Good by limiting the amount of occult forces affecting the world. It was the reason Aziraphale always knew he could count on Crowley for the small miracles that Heaven would otherwise frown upon (such as removing manacles to avoid discorporation via a guillotine).

“Aziraphale.” The angel glanced up and saw Crowley looking down at him with concern clear on his face even with his eyes still concealed.

“I’m sorry, my dear, got a bit lost in thought.”

“They worth anything?” Crowley had always used the question of whether Aziraphale’s thoughts were worth anything as an offer for the angel to talk about them. At first, the angel had thought that maybe the demon was asking if Aziraphale’s thoughts would be worth something to Hell but had eventually understood that it was an offer to listen.

Aziraphale’s thoughts were worth as much as they ever were when he was musing on Crowley—too much and not enough at the same time. But perhaps they were worth sharing this time. Aziraphale, leant against the concrete kitchen bench and took the proffered cup of cocoa with a shaky smile. He sipped the warm drink before speaking.

“Perhaps.”

“I’ve heard that talking to plants helps,” Crowley offered.

“I’m sure it does.”

Crowley leaned forward, resting his right hand on the bench as he moved closer to Aziraphale. “What’s up, angel?”

Aziraphale sighed and leaned the slightest bit closer to Crowley. From his position he could see the puddle of water and it was suddenly the most important thing to speak about. “I am very glad to have given you that water.”

“It certainly came in handy, yeah. I’m sure it was fun explaining to Heaven why you wanted some holy water.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and Crowley shifted to get a better look at the angel’s face. “Aziraphale?”

“I, uh… Well, I didn’t exactly… That is…” Aziraphale wished Crowley would stop his stumbling and, wonder of wonders, the demon did.

“Aziraphale.” The tone was soft in the way that only happened when the demon was truly trying to be kind.

“I didn’t go to Heaven,” the angel mumbled, fiddling with the cup of cocoa.

“You—” Crowley broke off. “You said it was the holiest. That’s only available in Heaven.”

“Not quite.”

Over six thousand years of companionship that turned into friendship, seventy years knowing that he loved the demon much more than he probably should, and now the truth would be coming out—there was no way it couldn’t.

“Did you make someone cry for me, angel?” Crowley’s tone was teasing and hiding the deeper emotion he clearly felt.

“You could say that. I, well, I _let_ someone cry for you. I let _myself_ cry.”

The silence that followed was thick with tension. All of the hidden words they had never spoken for fear of their respective Head Offices and the Arrangement that had once upon a time been a fragile thing hung in the air. Crowley shifted to stand in front of Aziraphale and tilted the angel’s head up with two fingers.

His sunglasses were gone and his eyes flickered all over Aziraphale’s face. “Aziraphale…” he breathed out.

“Oh, don’t go making a big deal out of it,” Aziraphale huffed, embarrassed.

“I don’t have to,” Crowley replied. “You giving me holy water created by your own tears is one of the biggest deals in the current history of the world. Angels don’t give demons holy water unless it’s to destroy them, they especially don’t cry for demons.”

“Yes, well, we’re not exactly the best examples of an angel and a demon, are we?” He tried to look away and drop the subject but Crowley’s fingers stopped him. They were loose and not stopping his movement at all but their mere presence was holding him still.

“On the contrary, I think you’re the perfect example of what an angel should be.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale didn’t know what else to say. It was all too fast and not fast enough and then Crowley was leaning forward and placing a kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek and whispering _thank you_ before pulling away and giving the angel space once more.

All of a sudden, it was just the right pace and Aziraphale could only smile and close the distance between them again. Crowley’s arm came up around his shoulder as Aziraphale leant into him and everything was right with the world that should have ended a few hours ago. Aziraphale hummed in contentment and sipped his cocoa.

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically an excuse to write about my headcanon that tears cried by an angel, for someone considered unredeemable, or by someone who generally feels no sorrow are holy water.


End file.
